Of Jealousy and Murder
by trustmeiwonabafta
Summary: ...not necessarily in that order. A locked room murder mystery, air-tight alibis, jealous boyfriends, hints of Mystrade, a confused, adorable John, and lots of sex. Also a very nosy Mrs. Hudson.


Sunlight filtered in through the dirty window in Sherlock's bedroom at 221b Baker Street. John rolled over, blinking himself awake. The bed was still warm, yet he felt no reassuring pressure at his back. He knew then that Sherlock was already up doing whatever it was that he did at strange hours of the morning and night, though he hadn't been for long. Still half asleep, John thought to himself that had it been Sherlock laying here he would've known the exact second that John had left the bed, and what he would have been doing in that instant as well. John giggled a bit at that, and turned onto his back, stretching himself out completely.

After relaxing himself and lying still in bed for a while, John threw the sheets off of his body and sat up. He glanced around, looking for a pair of trousers to wear or some pants; anything, honestly. With their life it was never a good thing to be naked during the day because it was never a given that no one would come barging into the sitting room with a case to solve. Finally John gave in and stood up, wandering over to the wardrobe to grab a clean pair of jeans. Deciding that he couldn't be bothered to put any pants on, he slipped on his most comfortable pair, idly scratching at his stomach after he put them on.

John walked out of Sherlock's bedroom, and started making his way into the kitchen. He snagged a few mugs left out from the day before to be placed in the sink, and idly thought that they should really just call it 'their' bedroom now, as John had been sleeping in it for over six months. Most of his things had been moved into the room anyway, and it wasn't like they were ever going to split up. This was it for both of them. They had found their soul mates, and were not going to separate.

As John finally stepped into the kitchen he saw Sherlock bent over the table, prodding at some sort of fleshy lump with a pair of tweezers. He smiled fondly at him, and brushed past softly to set the mugs in the sink. Sherlock hummed at him in acknowledgement, and went back to poking and prodding. He wrote something down and drug his eyes from whatever it was that he had. Sherlock looked at John then, and smiled softly at his back as the other man washed up. When John turned around, Sherlock looked at him for a second before going back to his experiment.

"John," Sherlock said suddenly, not looking up from his project. John started filling the kettle with water, and responded absent-mindedly,

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Would you mind bringing me my mobile? I think I left it in our room." John rolled his eyes. Sherlock and that damn phone.

"Sure," John said, putting the kettle on to boil. He was halfway to the bedroom when what Sherlock said had registered with him. 'Our bedroom.' John began to grin like mad, but instead of running back and snogging Sherlock like he was sure the man expected him to, he went into their room first, and grabbed the phone off of the nightstand, taking a moment to pocket his own as well. He was about to dash back to the kitchen when he thought better of it, and started his way back slowly.

When he reached the kitchen John brushed past Sherlock, handing the man his phone and moving on. The kettle began to whistle and he quickly turned off the stove, making tea for himself.

"Would you like some?" John asked, smiling widely to himself, back still to Sherlock. It took the other man a moment to answer.

"That would be fine," Sherlock said, and John nodded.

"Right then." When John turned around to hand Sherlock his mug he almost let out a small 'awww' at the adorable look that was on Sherlock's face. He was looking down at the table, quite obviously pouting that things had not gone his way. In Sherlock's mind, he saw it as a) John had not noticed his calling the bedroom 'theirs', in which case he would have to try again, or b) John didn't care about the gesture, which meant that he had deduced John's body language wrong. Neither was acceptable.

John held out the mug of tea and waited for Sherlock to take it. It appeared soon that he was too distracted, and so John set it down, stifling a snort as he did so. Why was this man so adorable when he was pouting? For a few minutes John puttered around the kitchen in silence. It was finally broken by a tentative sounding Sherlock.

"John."

"Hmm?" John hummed in response. He smiled to himself.

"Never mind."

John smiled, and finished drying his hands on the towel before turning around. There was Sherlock, poking at the thing again, in what could almost be described as a listless fashion. Could one prod a piece of flesh listlessly? John didn't know. Looking at how despondent Sherlock looked though, he took pity on the other man and decided to stop teasing him. John walked over to Sherlock, standing next to him until he stopped whatever he was doing and looked up at John.

"Take off the gloves." Sherlock looked a tad shocked at John's very direct command, but acquiesced nonetheless and slipped off the latex gloves that he'd been wearing. The moment that he did, John grabbed Sherlock's face with both hands and pulled him in, kissing him fiercely. Sherlock moaned softly and his hands flew up to bury themselves in John's hair. John groaned when Sherlock began pulling slightly at his hair, and wound his own fingers into Sherlock's hair in response.

Sherlock then scooted his chair out from the table, pulling John forward. John then straddled Sherlock's lap, sitting down and kissing him even harder. As one of Sherlock's hands slid down John's neck to rest against the naked skin of his left shoulder the other slid down to slip past the waistband of his jeans, and squeeze his ass slightly. John moaned loudly into Sherlock's mouth and he reached a hand between them to begin unbuttoning his shirt. As John ground his hips down, and they both gasped, there was a loud pounding on the door.

Their heads flew apart, and Sherlock shot a look towards the door that could have incinerated said door. John sighed and stood up, heading back to their bedroom to grab a shirt. It was beginning to look like another normal day at 221b Baker Street. John smiled, however, as he thought about the fact that this was 'their' bedroom. After he slipped on a shirt and his brown jumper, John put on his shoes and went back to the living room. He found Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sherlock in a staring contest, and grabbed his mug of tea from the counter. As John took a sip he winced; cold tea.

"Come on, now, though, Sherlock, we need you. I need you. It's a locked room murder with three suspects, yet all of them have air-tight alibis. I wouldn't bother you if I didn't have to." Greg ran a hand through his hair, and continued, sounding exasperated, "Besides, what happened to the days when you were always so bored that you jumped for cases like these?"

Sherlock looked over at John, who had moved over to sit in Sherlock's chair, watching the goings-on with interest. Sherlock then looked back at Lestrade, raising an eyebrow. Greg coughed, and said,

"Your relationships and personal time notwithstanding, I need you on this one. John will be with you, though," he added, "so it can't be all bad, right?" Sherlock remained silent, and Greg began to fidget a little bit. All of a sudden, Sherlock broke the silence.

"How's my brother doing, Greg?" Sherlock asked acerbically, a strong emphasis on the Detective Inspector's name. Lestrade froze, and looked sharply at the other man.

"Fine," he said slowly. "Why do you ask?" Sherlock smiled his Cheshire-like grin, and said,

"Oh, no reason." Greg narrowed his eyes, and then turned to look at John.

"So are you two coming or not?" John rolled his eyes at the theatrics and stood up, smiling softly. He walked to the kitchen to place his mug, and Sherlock's untouched one, in the sink.

"We'll be there in a bit," John said reassuringly, and Greg nodded, smiling at him.

"Right," he said. "See you then," he added, looking from John to Sherlock. Sherlock huffed and moved to sit down in his chair. Lestrade turned and walked downstairs, and as soon as he left Sherlock ran over to the window. He watched the other man get into a sleek black car, and nodded to himself. John walked up behind Sherlock, winding his arms around his waist, and said into his ear,

"So, I guess there's no time to finish what we started." He sounded resigned, and Sherlock quickly weighed options in his head, even though he knew that they couldn't. Homicides always ran on a short timeline.

"Afraid not." Sherlock could feel John nodding into his shoulder, and sighed. He was a bit put off, in all honesty. He had been rather looking forward to morning sex with his John. He felt John pulling away and turned around. Sherlock quickly captured John in his arms, placing a quick kiss to the other's lips before striding off to get his coat. John smiled, following him.


End file.
